


Juno Steel and the Day He Should’ve Stayed Home

by amillionworlds



Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Give Juno Steel A Hug, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV First Person, Rita I love you, Soft Peter Nureyev
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:22:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25009165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amillionworlds/pseuds/amillionworlds
Summary: Juno knew he should’ve stayed home today.Essentially, case fic meets sickfic. Hurt/Comfort ensues.
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Comments: 5
Kudos: 121





	Juno Steel and the Day He Should’ve Stayed Home

**Author's Note:**

> Hi y’all!
> 
> I most definitely did not write this at one in the morning, and my best friend/editor (hi I love you) definitely did not push me towards posting!

If I had known that we were going to be held at knifepoint, maybe I would’ve made a smarter decision this morning when I woke up feeling like I’d been hit by a freight train. 

And I knew what that felt like—you don’t drop off the Utgard Express and not remember the feeling. 

It was the kind of feeling where your stomach drops and your head swims and after it’s all over, all you can do is take a breath and keep moving. That is, if you can keep moving. 

But that’s another story from another time, and another place that my brain has no business being right now. Right. Being held at knifepoint. Focus. 

And Nureyev was looking at me, worried. That’s never good. If Nureyev looks worried, that must mean-

“Answer me! If you don’t tell me where to get my money right now, I’m going to slice you into a million tiny pieces while your boyfriend watches.” 

The guy in front of me was a great mess of a human being. He looked like he couldn’t tell a shower from the sewers, and smelled like it too. And he was big, even taller than Nureyev. That was new. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Nureyev said, head tilting as his calm facade resurfaced. Huh, maybe he wasn’t worried?

The thought made my head hurt. Well, made it hurt more—I don’t think fluorescent lighting helps with headaches. 

The goons weren’t helping either. 

“Honestly, if you’re going to...what was it you said? Oh yes, slice him to pieces, then I suppose you’d better start picking up your own first.”

What did that—ohhhhh, that’s what it meant. I must have sat there in a daze for too long, because the next thing I knew, Nureyev was slashing at the largest goon, and winning. 

I was supposed to help him. I knew that. Right. 

But I’d barely gotten out of my restraints before another smaller, scrappier goon was holding a knife to my throat. I was slumped against him like a rag doll, and I just couldn’t seem to pick my legs up. 

Nureyev saw me and stopped just long enough for the big goon to get up off the concrete floor and try to fight back. 

“Another move and I kill him,” the goon threatened, digging his knife deeper into my skin. It wouldn’t take much before there’d be blood and oh wow there it was. 

I didn’t want to look, didn’t want to to think about the blood dripping out of me onto the floor. I knew I would regret it. 

Nureyev didn’t seem to like that either, but there was nothing I could do. My limbs feel like lead, and my vision swam. And it was cold, so cold it made my whole body shiver. 

I closed my eyes for just a second, then it was all finished so quickly. The goons were dead, and Rita was buzzing in my earpiece about something or other. 

“Boss, Mistah Ransom? You’re all clear—we’ve gotta go now, but get back safe!”

Nureyev was holding me, and I couldn’t remember when he’d gotten over here. It didn’t seem to particularly matter all that much. 

“Juno, you’re burning up. Why didn’t you say you weren’t feeling well?”

Before I knew it he was carrying me out of there. I tucked my head into his shoulder without a thought, and before I blacked out entirely, I heard him whispering, “Juno.”

“Juno?”

“Juno!”

And then I was gone. 

_______________________

I woke up what felt like minutes later in bed—whose bed I wasn’t sure, but I was most definitely in a bed. 

My thoughts still felt scrambled, like someone had tried to blend my brain into a smoothie or something. 

And there was Nureyev, looking as exhausted as I’d ever seen him. He was slumped over on the bed with me, halfway in a chair, his head on my lap. 

I ran my fingers through his silky, soft hair, and he shot up, eyes wild. 

“Nureyev?” My voice came out slow and muffled, like I hadn’t spoken in days. 

“Juno! Oh, Juno we’ve all been so worried! Why didn’t you say you weren’t feeling well? You could’ve been killed!”

Then he was crying. I didn’t think I’d ever seen him cry before, at least, not as an adult. It’s hard to know what to do in moments like these. 

“It’s not like I was dead,” I said. And woah, okay, that was definitely not making him feel better. 

“Juno, I had to carry you out of there your fever was so high. You were cut and bleeding out and—just don’t ever do that again, you idiot!”

I nodded slowly, the thick haze creeping away. I didn’t feel nearly as bad as I had before, so that was a relief. 

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, letting my head flop downwards. 

“It’s okay to be vulnerable Juno,” he said, threading his fingers through mine gently. I gave his hand a squeeze, trying to muster up all the words I couldn’t say. “No one is going to blame you for being sick. It happens to everyone.”

“I just—“ I didn’t know exactly where I was going, but I knew there was a point somewhere. “I didn’t want to let you down.”

And then he was standing, moving away, and I didn’t know where he was going or if he was coming back, and I was scared. He was going to walk away, and - 

“Juno, I’m not going anywhere.” I realized I’d closed my eyes, braced myself. “I’m not leaving you, and I’m definitely not going anywhere while you’re indisposed. We’ll have you right back on your feet before you know it.”

He slipped into the other half of the bed and I realized that we were in our shared quarters of the Carte Blanche. In our bed. 

He reached for me, and with gentle hands and strong arms he pulled my into his chest, holding me closely. 

I knew right then, more than ever before, that I loved Peter Nureyev. And if I had him, well, it couldn’t be that bad.


End file.
